


Enfolded

by second_skin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But Sherlock's Back from the Dead, Christmas, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mycroft is Crafty, Origami, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a favorite Mycroft fic, <a href="http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/1273380.html">Bonheurs Enfantins, Trop Vite Oubliés Effacés</a> by fyria_yiries, in which it is revealed that Mycroft has a special skill and is kind to children.<br/>Just a very tiny bit of Mystrade fluff written awhile back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enfolded

 

Lestrade's daughter had met Sherlock, Mycroft, and John before, of course, but only in brief hello-and-goodbyes when she visited her Dad's office. Annie hadn't really spent time with any of them since Sherlock's death and astonishing resurrection.

Three miserable days, those were, when they'd all thought Sherlock was gone forever. But nothing compared to the media feeding frenzy that followed. Lestrade always knew the man had an ego, but honestly. Did it have to be three days? Bloody Christ complex. The tabloids had had a field day--a field month, in fact. They still referred to Molly as "Molly Magdalene," and to the blog as the "Gospel of John," even all these months later.

But thank God, it was all over and things could get back to normal. Or what passed for normal in the Land of Holmes.

 

But things didn't feel completely right yet. And Lestrade knew that was his fault. Annie hadn't yet been introduced to Mycroft as her father's new boyfriend. Lestrade had kept the two apart in the months since he and Mycroft had stumbled into this surprising mid-life romance. He wouldn't admit it to My, of course, but he was worried Mycroft would terrify the little girl. So worried that he had actually asked Mycroft if they could take a break from seeing each other around Christmas, when Annie would be visiting. He just hadn't been able to imagine what Mycroft Holmes and an eight-year-old girl could have in common. Mycroft would probably ask her opinion of the bloody Syrian crisis, and it would careen downhill from there.

He was relieved that Mycroft had agreed to the relationship break without a fuss. But Lestrade had still felt a pang of guilt, and tried to soothe his conscience by calling to suggest a New Year's Eve date at a posh restaurant he knew Mycroft fancied.

Mycroft had gone silent for a few seconds on the other end of the line, then asked, "And will Miss Annabelle be joining us? Perhaps we should choose a different restaurant--something she'd like?"

"No, it'll just be us. Annie's going home the day before. Birthday party for one of her friends."

Mycroft paused again, thanked Lestrade for the invitation, and said he'd pencil the date into his calendar. But the week was so terribly busy with embassy holiday parties and driving to the country with Sherlock and John to spend the obligatory Christmas Day with Mummy. Then he'd hung up without the usual "Love you, Greg," that Lestrade had come to expect, even though he himself hadn't quite gotten up the courage to respond in kind yet.

 

"Does she like animals?" Mycroft had asked over lunch a couple of days before Annie's arrival.

"Yes, I guess all kids like animals, don't they?" Lestrade had replied. "Right now she seems to be talking about ponies and swans, day and night. Last year it was polar bears, of all things."

"Hmm. That's very interesting," was all Mycroft had said, and Lestrade assumed he was just trying to be polite. The man certainly had better things to do than worry about a little kid's here-today, gone-tomorrow obsessions.

Lestrade spent the next two days getting ready for his daughter's arrival--tidying, laying in a supply of nutella, bubble gum, and crisps in the cupboards. He forgot about Mycroft.

 

Lestrade brought Annie back to his flat, fresh from the train station on Christmas eve.  And he immediately realized that he should not have underestimated Mycroft Holmes. He should have been ashamed for doubting  the man's ability to research, analyze, prepare, and adjust perfectly to the shape of Lestrade's life.

 

This was much more than Mycroft's usual polite gestures, wasn't it? There was a grace to this. And a particular kind of generosity‚ rare in either Holmes. Mycroft had given something of himself without expecting anything in return, and without condescension.

When he'd seen the note on the door to the small bedroom, Lestrade had recognized Mycroft's precise, almost feminine penmanship immediately. The thick white card read simply, but formally:

 

_Dear Annabelle,  
I liked these when I was your age, and so did my brother. So I thought you might like them too. I will teach you how to make them when we meet, if you wish.  
Sincerely,  
Mycroft Holmes_

 

When Lestrade counted them later, he discovered there were exactly a thousand. How Mycroft managed to make a thousand (Had Anthea and Carlos, his driver, helped?) in only a couple of days was a mystery. How he had discovered that turquoise and silver were Annie's favorite colors was also a mystery, but not one that needed solving then and there. Instead, Lestrade enjoyed the squeals of laughter from his daughter as she jumped up and down on the bed batting at the intricately folded paper swans and ponies--some enormous, some tiny--that dangled on silver ribbons--some long, some short--from the bedroom ceiling.

 

He took out his phone and snapped a picture and sent it to Mycroft, with a note:

 

_She loves them.  
Come over now for tea and biscuits.  
xoxo  
G._

_  
_

Annie stopped jumping for a moment to ask breathlessly, "Dad, is Mycroft Holmes the one with the umbrella or the one who looks like a vampire?"

"Umbrella," said Lestrade with a grin.

"He's very nice, but I like the vampire best. He's the handsomest. Maybe we can see him again soon?"

 

Lestrade closed his eyes for a moment, seeing a future in which his daughter liked the boys like Sherlock best. And brought them to visit. And made his life a living hell. But it was time to repress those blood-curdling thoughts--better left for Halloween instead of Christmas.

 

"Well, I love the one with the umbrella best, and he'll be here any minute, so let's make him some tea, shall we?"  


 


End file.
